Blurb:
Cilla lost a scale to the big bad Troll who lived under the bridge. Without it, she couldn't turn into a dragon and was stuck as a human. Five years, the Troll said. Five years as the Customer Service Manager for Bedtime Stories Press and then she'd be free. But instead of having her scale returned as promised, she was handed over to Djimon, a vampire. She has to spend one day with him, twenty-four hours of sexual servitude, and then she'll be free. Except... what if she doesn't want to leave?
Excerpt:This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Prim and proper Cilla scanned her email, searching for the most important messages first. Those emails usually contained all capitals in their subject lines. Irate customers used capitals. Ingrates. Okay, ingrates wasn't a very nice thing to say about Bedtime Stories Press readers. She was just so... mad.

Cilla pushed her sliding glasses further up her nose and blew the falling tendrils of hair out of her face. She'd have to fix her bun sooner or later, but she still had over a hundred emails to look through.

On the plus side, half of the emails were praise for Bedtime Stories Press and its authors, especially Celia K. Yle. It was the other half she dreaded. If only...

If only she hadn't fallen for the Troll's tricks. Toll collector by night, she was the whip-wielding General Manager of the publishing house by day. And she'd duped Cilla like she was a hatchling just getting her wings under her. Geesh.

One. One tiny little scale from the tip of her tiny little tail and now Cilla was stuck working for the Troll forever and ever, amen (Or five years, whichever came first). Even God couldn't save her now. She wasn't sure if anyone could save her.

The thing about it was... Cilla's powers were tied to her scales. They lived just beneath her skin, waiting for the moment when she'd set them free and then whamo! Dragon. Except... nothing happens when one of her scales goes missing. If it sheds naturally she can shift just as soon as a new one grows in. But if it's plucked from her like a feather, no amount of wishing will force the scale to return. She had to have that pesky missing piece handed back to her safe and sound. The Troll wasn't likely to do that any time soon. Hell, it'd been nearly five years and still the scale was nowhere in sight.

"Cilla!" the Troll bellowed through the intercom system. "Silly Cilla!"

With a sigh she pushed away from her desk and padded toward the Troll's domain. The General Manager's office had been decorated to resemble her favorite place... the underside of a bridge.

"Yes, ma'am?" Must act submissive. Must. Five years the Troll had said. Five years and she'd be free. Of course, each time Cilla pissed her off, the sentence was changed. Hell, sometimes it changed at her whim.

"Come in, come in."

Cilla stepped across the threshold and froze. Holy fire and water be merciful.

The most gorgeous man Cilla had ever seen stood before the Troll's desk. She stared at the ruggedly handsome man. His hair was dark, almost midnight-black, and held the tiniest hint of a curl like a calm day at sea. The man's forehead was wide, but not high -- strong. Those eyes... Amber like a cat's, but they held a hunger she couldn't identify and she wondered if this was another of the Troll's lovers. His nose wasn't too large, but matched his face, a small bump along the bridge showing that it'd been broken at one time over the years. But it was his lips she wanted, needed, desired. She imagined them to be soft, so kissably soft and sweet. Something about this man drew her to him and for the first time in her long life, she didn't want to resist.

His shoulders were broad, encased in a polo shirt just loose enough not to be considered indecent, but showing off his pectorals and tapered waist. He wore loose-fitting khaki pants, and she cursed the cotton fabric, wishing she could see if the rest of him was as well muscled as his torso. That, and she wanted a good look at the size of his package.